


i'm far away on my way back to your door

by celestexists



Category: Moominvalley (Cartoon 2019), Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-06-29 11:28:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19829242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celestexists/pseuds/celestexists
Summary: Spring comes and goes.





	i'm far away on my way back to your door

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mayerwien](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mayerwien/gifts).



> For when the rainy/winter season gets too cold and dark. Happy birthday, May!

**_spring_ **

One clear and bright morning towards the end of April, Snufkin walks along the untrodden path of the woods. His knapsack is wonderfully light, with only the essentials and a pouch of seeds (but that is for later), but his mind is full of stories, all his adventures from the south that he must tell his dear Moomintroll and the rest of their friends.

He smiles at the crunch of melting ice beneath his boots, at the small green shoots sprouting up from the ground. The birds are already singing their own spring tunes, the songs echoing above the branches of the tall trees. What a lovely spring greeting from the forest. He will make sure to add them to his own tune.

Snufkin reaches for his mouth-organ in the pocket of his jacket, feeling the movement of a tune from under his hat. And he continues walking, relishing the green apple-crisp breeze while the tune wriggles about until it’s more solid and shaped.

A spring tune is almost always jolly and sad at the same time, which is a challenging adventure on its own. 

But this one, Snufkin thinks to himself, this one is strange. As far as he can tell, it’s one part spring sadness, one part longing, and two parts delight in being alone.

Something is missing.

Snufkin shrugs. Surely he will find that missing part sooner or later. These things take time, after all. In the meantime, he lifts his mouth-organ to his lips and tries out the growing tune from under his hat.

It’s a good tune in progress, if Snufkin says so himself. But it stops so abruptly to the missing part and it doesn’t sound quite right incomplete. He stops at turns, letting it breathe for a bit, before trying the tune again. But it never sounds right.

“Bother,” Snufkin murmurs and stops to sit on one of the fallen logs. He leans back on his hands and stares up at the blue sky.

He’s almost near Moominvalley; everything is more lush and loud. The babbling brook is having a mid-morning conversation with the chittering creeps while the trees sway softly to the breeze. Snufkin looks down, and see, even the sprouts in this area are lovingly wrapped around budding wildflowers.

He taps his mouth-organ with his finger. He can’t cross the bridge without his spring tune, just the very idea makes him shudder. Moomintroll will be _waiting_ and—

Snufkin pauses. Oh, of course, he thinks and ducks his head so the forest doesn’t see his growing smile. The tune under his head starts moving again.

He knows the missing part now.

He continues walking, playing his tune and practicing until the shape is spring-like: bright and sharp like the sparkling river, soft and vulnerable like a flower petal, and well-worn like Snufkin’s old green hat.

Snufkin smiles around his mouth-organ when he sees a familiar figure standing by the bridge. In the distance, he sees the blue walls of the towering Moominhouse and its pointed red roof, tucked in between sloping green valleys with snaking rivers moving beyond the mountains. 

As he gets nearer, he sees that Moomintroll has his hands clasped together as he listens to Snufkin’s spring tune, his white tail quivering. Moomintroll’s eyes are as blue as the spring sky, and so Snufkin closes his eyes so he can finish the song, finally.

When he’s done, the tune gone from under his hat, Moomintroll claps excitedly. “That was wonderful, Snufkin!” He says. “Very different from the usual.”

“Just a bit,” Snufkin agrees as he pockets his mouth-organ. One part spring sadness, one part longing, two parts delight in being alone, and the rest for the sheer joy of being _home._

“So how was the South?” Moomintroll asks, as they walk together back to the house.

Their hands brush in passing with every other step, Moomintroll’s white light fur soft against Snukin’s callused fingertips. Snufkin leans closer, so now their fingers are touching.

“Very exciting,” Snufkin reports, readying himself to share his stories with his dearest Moomintroll. “I took a ride with the Hattifatteners and stopped at a curious little island where a wailing specter haunted the caves. It turns out he was shipwrecked there when he was alive, so I helped him build a boat and...” 

**_summer_ **

Snufkin wakes with a mouthful of white fur, his nose buried in tufts of it. Moomintroll is facing him, his hands curled under his cheek and his tail wrapped around Snufkin’s leg. Snufkin's arm is draped over the soft curve of Moomintroll’s stomach, though Snufkin is sure they slept the other way around, with Moomintroll enveloping him in his arms.

It has been a busy few days. Hemulen, the collector of fairy tale books, had told them about small flower fairies flitting about in the woods, so he and Moomintroll had wandered around the green lively forest looking for summer sprites. They even swam along the river to see if there were water sprites brave enough to make friends with them.

They didn’t find one, but they did meet a small girl living in a flower. Petalia had hair as pink as the flower petals she lived in, and she was quite gay and fun to be around. Then the moomin family decided to have a party in honor of Petalia, and in honor of summer, so they had cakes, and pastries, and fruit drinks all night. Snufkin had played a few tunes on his mouth-organ, upon the request of Moomintroll and some of the party-goers. He played a dancing song he learned from elves of the east; a low laughing song from the goblins of southwest; and a bright tinkling song from birds of the north.

When it was time to sleep, Snufkin was happy to escape to the quiet of the attic with Moomintroll, where they can be alone and away from everyone else. Then as soon as Moomintroll had Snufkin in his arms, Snufkin fell fast asleep.

Snufkin lays his cheek against the rounded curve of Moomintroll’s snout and curls his fingers into softness of Moomintroll’s nape. There is a part of him that would like to stay for a little longer. Moomintroll is as soft as a cloud, and he smells like the peaches they ate last night.

But the streams of sunlight against his skin is calling to Snufkin.

Besides still, Snufkin feels a tug in his heartstrings. It is very faint, but still quite present. 

And so he slips from Moomintroll’s arms quietly, his friend not once stirring. Snufkin smiles when Moomintroll mumbles in his sleep and clutches Snufkin’s bed roll to himself. Moomintroll’s bed isn’t big enough for one moomin and one snufkin, so they had pulled Moomintroll’s mattress down the floor and squished it against Snufkin’s bed roll.

After shouldering his knapsack and putting on his hat and boots, Snufkin slides the window open and climbs down the rope ladder. He pauses midway to stare at the sun rising steadily but surely between the sloping green valleys.

“Such radiance,” Snufkin murmurs, leaning forward and putting one hand over his eyes as he stares at the orange-tinged blue sky giving off light and shadow to the white clouds moving across the heavens.

“You might fall, dear,” a voice calls out from below.

Snufkin glances down, before climbing down the rest of the way. “Good morning, Moominmamma,” he greets.

Moominmamma stands up from where she’s tending to her garden and pats her apron. “Good morning, Snufkin,” she says. “Lovely day, isn’t it?”

“Beautiful,” he agrees, looking to the north. He’s itching to go to the sea, for some reason. He wants to watch the waves lap against the sand and feel the grainy warmth of the ground against his bare toes. And summer is about to end, so surely there won’t be that much people on the beach?

“Is it time for you to leave, dear?” Moominmamma asks softly.

Snufkin looks back at her. Her eyes are a darker, more metallic shade of blue, but it’s as kind and gentle as Moomintroll’s. 

“Not quite,” he says. “But almost.”

“I see,” she says. Then she nods to herself and reaches for something in the handbag she always carries. She takes out a glass jar filled with dark red, almost violet inside and gives it to Snufkin. “I made this for you.”

“Oh dear,” he says faintly, staring at Moominmamma’s outstretched hand. “I’m afraid I don’t like... keeping things...”

She laughs softly, her eyes almost as sky blue as Moomintroll’s now. “Yes, Moomintroll told me,” she says. “This is blackcurrant jam. You can eat it with toast or such during your day trips while you’re in Moominvalley. If you like, you can return the container to me so it’s not a heavy burden.”

Snufkin swallows and takes the gift from Moominmamma. “I love blackcurrant.” And he knows Moominmamma knows this, so he forges on: “I shall return this jar spic-and-span.”

“Thank you, dear,” Moominmamma says gratefully, as if he were the one granting her a favor. “Now run along. I heard Little My saying last night that she was planning to hunt for crabs in the beach. Best to savor it while there’s no one around.”

Snufkin gives one last wave to her before making his way to the sea. He does not ask how she knows where he’s headed; she and Moomintroll are also alike in that regard.

**_fall_ **

Snufkin leans back against the fallen log and watches the sunset for a moment. When Snufkin takes a deep breath, he swears he smells the spices Moominmamma likes to put in her autumn pies: cinnamon, nutmeg, and ginger.

Everything is awash in golden fiery colors, from the leaves to the rays of the sun. But this warmth does nothing to dissipate the biting cold in the air. And so he stares at the darkening sky one last time, before turning away to set his tent. 

The forest is quiet except for the crackling of fallen leaves under Snufkin’s boots and the rustling of his things as he fixes his tent. By the time the moon is up in the sky, Snufkin has a fire going. He sits down on the ground and closes his eyes, listening to the dancing flames and letting the warmth thaw out his cold fingers.

“What’s the point of leaving a warm, cozy bed if you’re just going to camp out literally a bridge away from the house?” 

Snufkin opens his eyes and turns his head. “And why aren’t you in that warm, cozy bed?”

Little My crosses her arms over her chest before sitting down across him. “I have other plans.”

“I wish you a safe journey then,” Snufkin says in lieu of goodbye and takes out his pipe. There is never not a good night for a smoke, and tonight was exceptional, with all the stars out in the sky.

But Little My doesn’t leave; she stares at the fire before abruptly saying, “You know he misses you.”

Snufkin pauses from lifting the pipe stem to his lips. Little My still hasn’t looked at him, her face golden by the light of the fire. “Have you ever seen a huffler?” When Little My shakes her head, he continues, “It has the body of a ram, but the mane of a lion. They are fierce looking creatures. But they’re actually very gentle.

“From spring to autumn, they stay with the herd; to mate, to birth little hufflings, and to enjoy the fruits of summer. But as winter sets, each huffler is called, perhaps by desire or perhaps by instinct, to find a cave of its own to hibernate during the season. Perhaps other animals would see this as unnecessary or cowardly—after all there is much beauty in winter: the fine white snow; Lady Winter’s songs in the wind; the glass appearance of lakes and rivers. But it is what the huffler needs. And when the huffler wakes once spring comes, they’ll go back to the herd and enjoy the seasons to come.”

Snufkin draws from his pipe and smokes out several rings, waiting for Little My to respond, because she has a mighty frown on her face.

“I have no idea what you just said,” she finally says, scowling now.

Snufkin hides his smile into his scarf. “I also miss my dearest Moomintroll,” he answers, drawing on his pipe again. “But the forest and the world beyond calls to me, and I must answer that call, most times. And Moomintroll knows this, just as I know that he must rest and sleep for the winter.”

“So, what, you just miss each other even if it makes you sad?” Little My asks incredulously, as if she can’t fathom such a thing.

“Sadness is as impermanent and as constant as winter,” Snufkin says. “It comes and goes. And it doesn’t make us _truly_ sad, if it makes us happier to either roam free or stay home with loved ones.”

“Hmph,” Little My huffs. Then her eyes slide past Snufkin towards his tent. “What've you got inside your tent? It's glowing brighter than the fire.”

“Something secret for now,” Snufkin says easily, then he lowers his pipe and stares unblinkingly at Little My until she's squirming in her seat. “And I'll thank you not to go snooping inside, Little My.”

“I wasn’t going to,” she denies, scowling at Snufkin.

They sit in companionable silence for a bit; Snufkin has no idea how much time passes, just that the moon is brighter, the wind is louder, and the shadows are bigger. When Little My announces she’s leaving, Snufkin politely asks if she’d like him to accompany her. 

He’s not the least bit surprised when she simply sniffs at him and leaves without another word. Snufkin watches her small silhouette disappear into the dark as she crosses the bridge, back towards the Moominhouse, before going inside his own tent.

**_winter_ **

Even with his jacket and scarf, Snufkin can feel the cold acutely. If he crosses his eyes, he can see that the tip of his nose is red. And he can feel his cheeks tingling from the chilly wind. The only thing warm about him is from where his fingers are wrapped around the small pot he’s carrying.

It’s barely dawn, and the sun is still asleep, judging by the gray clouds overhead. Snufkin stares up for a moment, looking at the bare, stark branches of trees against the sky. The air is quiet and still, except for the occasional breeze. The birds have flown for the South already.

He slowly makes his way to the bridge, then to the house, then up the long winding stairs towards the attic. There’s no one to greet him; it’s still too early in the morning, and all the moomins and guests are accustoming themselves to their long winter sleep again.

When he reaches the closed door, Snufkin carefully transfers the pot in one arm to knock on the door with his free hand. He smiles when he hears a scuffle from the other side, before the knob turns and the door opens. 

“Snufkin!” Moomintroll exclaims brightly, before his eyes are drawn to what he’s holding. “Oh, how _lovely._ ”

“It’s for you,” Snufkin says, as Moomintroll ushers him inside the room.

Moomintroll’s hands hover over Snufkin’s gift, as if he wants to touch it but is afraid to do so. “It’s nothing like I’ve ever seen from Moominmamma’s garden,” Moomintroll says, leaning closer until his white fur is reflecting the emanating golden light. “Where did you get it?”

“From one of my trips in the Southeast,” Snufkin answers, setting the pot down on Moomintroll’s bedside table. “It’s a seasonal flower, you see. It only blooms every winter.”

Moomintroll rushes forward beside Snufkin until their shoulders are touching. And Snufkin sees the moment Moomintroll gives in, his blue eyes bright as spring skies again, before he reaches out and curls a finger against one of the glowing petals of the golden flower. The flower is shaped like a deep dish, with slightly flaring petals that glowed golden in the dim room. Its nondescript dark green stem was accompanied by two jaunty, but equally ordinary looking, leaves on each side.

“It’s so warm,” Moomintroll breathes out, looking amazed. “But how will I take care of it while I’m asleep, Snufkin?”

“It’s very strong, Moomintroll, it just needs to be placed in a cold, dark spot. But,” Snufkin pauses. “Please remember it is a winter flower.” 

Moomintroll looks up from petting the golden flower with a confused frowned. “Yes, and?”

Snufkin steps forward and takes Moomintroll’s hands in his. “And it is most likely that when you wake come spring, the flower would have withered by then.”

“What?” Moomintroll glances down at the flower in dismay. “How terrible!”

Snufkin laughs softly. “It’s for you,” Snufkin says again. “To keep you warm, to give you good dreams and a peaceful sleep. To keep you company during the cold of winter. I know how moomins hate the cold.”

“But...” Moomintroll is still staring at the flower. “I won’t even get to spend a proper amount of time with it. I’ll be asleep.”

“That is the next part of the gift,” Snufkin says with a small smile, twining their fingers together. Moomintroll finally looks away from the flower and turns his eyes back on Snufkin. “The flower drops seeds every winter’s end. I thought perhaps we can plant the seeds and grow the flower together once spring arrives?” 

“Oh,” Moomintroll says softly, the wondering look back on his face as he stares at Snufkin. “Oh, I see.”

Snufkin squeezes Moomintroll’s fingers. “I was beginning to wonder,” he teases.

A faint flush rises to Moomintroll’s cheeks and snout. “I was preoccupied with the flower,” he says with a laugh. “And yes, I would love to garden with you, Snufkin.”

Snufkin shakes his head, smiling. “I suppose if you want to call it that...”

Moomintroll hesitates for a moment, his eyes brightening again, before he puts his arms around Snufkin’s neck. “Thank you for my flower,” he says against Snufkin’s ear. “It must have been challenging, growing it on your own.”

Snufkin closes his eyes and tucks his nose against Moomintroll’s neck. He thinks about finding the right spot, with the perfect amount of shade and dampness, to plant the seed; he thinks about handling the soil to make sure it’s the right texture; he thinks about the times he almost forgot to water the flower every other day, especially during the peak of the dry summer; he thinks about how excited he was when it started sprouting then blooming in the autumn; he thinks about how he had to swallow the lump in his throat and ask Moominmamma for a flower pot; he thinks about the way he groomed and prepared the flower countless nights during the cold dawn of autumn mornings.

“It wasn’t that difficult,” Snufkin finally says, curling his fingers against Moomintroll’s back.

They stay that way for a moment more, and just a small moment at that, before Snufkin pulls back with a smile. “I’ll see you on the first day of spring,” he promises.

Moomintroll nods, blinking furiously. “I’ll be waiting by the bridge with the flower pot.”

Snufkin laughs. And then he gives in as well and leans forward for one last hug, one last farewell to his dearest Moomintroll.

Snufkin’s knapsack feels heavy with all his provisions and gear for the winter as he climbs down the rope ladder from Moomintroll’s window. But his hands are free from all that carrying now, so once he lands on the ground, he takes out his mouth-organ and plays one of his favorite adventure tunes. 

He sees Moomintroll lean out of the window, waving wildly at him as Snufkin walks backward, playing his song loudly. Once he passes the bridge, Snufkin ends with a laughing vibrato and bows as he hears Moomintroll clap in the distance. Snufkin waves at him one last time, drinking in the sight of the tall Moominhouse and the valleys and rivers in the distance, before turning to the forest and setting off for his next unknown. 

**Author's Note:**

> Title from “Theme Song (I'm Far Away)” by MØ.


End file.
